Calamari and the God of Dreams
by Crysania
Summary: Based on 6x01...someone ELSE is at the castle in Belle's dream world. Things don't quite go Morpheus's way.


There's something… _off_ …about the castle. It's his, but not. He stands there, watching Belle as she skitters around, nervous as a little mouse being stalked by a cat. He doesn't remember her ever being like that.

She was brash, bold. She stood in the lair of the beast and shouted him down. It was, perhaps, what intrigued him most about her.

Morpheus looks on as Belle stammers her way through apology after apology, that same half smirk on his face as he had when he first approached him. _Do you want to wake her?_

Of course he does.

What else would he be there for, after all? He might be the God of Dreams, but it seems he didn't know much. He didn't know Rumplestiltskin. He didn't seem to know Belle. And he sure didn't know his castle.

"What _is_ this?" he asks as he turns to the _God_.

"You don't recognize it?" Morpheus says with a smirk. Always smirking. He looks like a creepy monk, hair cut in that distinctive bowl form, and for a moment Rumplestiltskin wants him to turn his head, to see if there's a bald spot there. He almost laughs out loud. _Almost_. But this is not a laughing matter.

Belle is frightened and he takes a deep breath as he sees himself in the mirror, sees the imp he never wants to be again. The leather, the reptilian eyes, the long nails. Him but not him, a version he can't ever imagine being again. But there's Belle, watching him, waiting for him to respond.

 _And it is all wrong_.

"This is not my castle," he says.

Morpheus laughs.

Belle cocks her head to the side. "Rumplestiltskin? Are you quite alright?" There's concern there, hiding somewhere between her fear and hesitancy, one hand raised and a soft look about her eyes that still carries through despite everything else.

"Of course it is," Morpheus says and he realizes that Belle cannot see the god, cannot hear him. He gives him a glance out of the corner of his eye before looking back to Belle. "It's how _she_ remembers it," the god adds.

He shakes his head. No. He remembers her, remembers her all too well during those early days. She wouldn't remember it like this.

And besides…

"Something is missing," he says out loud.

"Something?" Belle's brow furrows. "There's tea. And I made your tea cakes…"

"Not the tea," he says and the words come out more forceful than he intends.

Morpheus laughs. Of course he does. It's as if he has chosen sides and Rumplestiltskin is not the winner.

"Not the tea," he says again, softer. He remembers his voice. Slightly nasal, a little breathy. It's the voice he used toward the end, before he chased her off and lost her for what felt like the first _and_ last time.

 _Was it easier thinking she was dead?_ He sometimes thinks it might have been. But then he remembers those times. Feeling lost. Angry. The hate eating away at his mind like a sickness. Now there is just a rapidly beating heart, a bit of sweat on his upper lip, eyes that sometimes won't seem to focus.

"There's something _wrong_ ," he reiterates and turns to Morpheus.

The god shrugs, his mouth still tilted up in that ever present smirk. "She's your servant, Rumple." He waves one long-fingered hand. "Make her serve." He moves closer to Rumplestiltskin on those last words, leans near, and Rumplestiltskin can see the shorn ends of his hair, as if he took scissors to the locks himself. "Do what you do best and _command her_."

"No!" He almost doesn't recognize the voice that comes from him. "You will not tell me what to do!"

"Rumplestiltskin!" He barely hears her voice over the roar of blood in his veins, over Morpheus's laughter. "Who are you talking to?" But he does feel her hand as it comes to rest on his forearm. Soft, tentative. She always could tame the beast.

He turns to look at her then and sees wide blue eyes, a slight frown marring her perfect mouth. He knows what it's like to kiss that mouth, to feel it pressed to his own, pressed to the pulse point at the crook of his neck.

He takes a deep breath.

And another.

She releases his arm.

"What's missing?"

"I…" she starts to say. He's sure she intends to say more, but there's a sound. Somewhere off to the right. Loud… _squishy_.

"Rumplestiltskin!"

 _That_ is what is missing. He feels the room shift, lighten. Belle turns to greet the newcomer. "Stan!" she admonishes. "You know how…"

" _Rumplestiltskin!_ " he shouts again, heaving his great bulbous body across the room at a rather alarming rate. Rumplestiltskin knows he should move, sidestep him, _anything_. But he stays rooted to the spot as the ridiculous creature flies to him.

"You're here to wake us!" The words come moments before the creature latches onto him.

"Us?" Rumplestiltskin says. Or at least…would have said…if he didn't end up with a mouthful of goo.

"Stanley?" Stan lets him go at the sound of the other voice, turning to face the God of Dreams.

"Morpheus!" he shouts, though there's some hesitancy behind the name, as if the excitement is draining out of him rapidly.

"Of a sorts," the god answers and there's that ever present smirk.

He watches Belle blink and turn to look at the god. _At him_. She sees him and she shakes her head, cobwebs clearing away as she focuses on Morpheus, on Rumplestiltskin, now clad in dark business suit, and Stan. Stan who has not changed, who will never change. The one constant in their often upside down world.

Stan loves them.

All of them.

Every last one of them.

Morpheus takes a step closer to the creature. "Stanley, what are you doing here?"

"I live here!" he shouts, one tentacle sweeping across the expanse of the room. It takes out Morpheus. Of course it does, hitting just behind his knees and causing his legs to buckle. He ends up on the ground in a puddle of goo and Stan is trying desperately to get him back on his feet, tentacles flying, more hindrance than help. Rumplestiltskin would laugh if this whole thing weren't such a bloody terrifying mess.

"You…" Morpheus finally manages to get out.

"I live here!" Stan reiterates. Morpheus doesn't know, isn't aware of the strange magical octopus who both made their lives a living hell and just that much better. He's like the pet they never wanted, that dog who never quite knows when to stop and slobbers on anything that comes to the door. Yet they love him. And Morpheus doesn't know that. Rumplestiltskin loved Belle at the Dark Castle, that much is true. But he also had a strange, almost fatherly love for the ridiculous creature who had invaded their lives soon after Belle came to live with him.

"You live with the Dark One?" Morpheus looks thrown off whatever he's doing for a moment.

"You know him?" Rumplestiltskin says, waving one hand in the air.

"Everyone knows Stan," Morpheus says, but there's something in the way he says it, the way his eyes shift to the side slightly. Rumplestiltskin narrows his eyes as he watches him.

"No one who comes to the castle seems to know him." Belle's voice intrudes on his thoughts. He glances at her and her face is screwed up funny. Like she knows something is off. Still half in her dream world, still half in reality. They're here, at the Dark Castle, but not really in the same place. Her memories are still twisted and odd, reality overlaid with her dream world.. And he's watching, knowing where they've come from, where they've been. He knows why she's here.

What he doesn't know is why _he_ is here. He looks away from Belle and watches Morpheus for a moment. The god's face looks both innocent and malevolent at the same time, corners of his mouth tilted up, his eyes almost unnaturally wide.

Rumplestiltskin takes a step toward the god. Then another. "Why are you here?" His voice is pitched low, dangerous, the voice that makes grown men shiver in fear and run for their lives.

"Rumplestiltskin." Belle sounds hesitant. Her voice cracks on the last syllable. He reaches for her, holding out a hand, waiting, hoping. It takes her a moment but she finally reaches across to him, puts her hand in his.

He releases the breath he didn't even know he was holding.

And then there's Morpheus, moving quickly, stepping close to them. Rumplestiltskin steps back, tries to pull Belle behind him. The god will not touch her. He knows little of him, save his influence over dreams, but there's something remarkably _off_ about him.

He can't quite put his finger on it.

But it's there. He feels it. Deep down inside, scraping raw against his insides.

"I'm your son," Morpheus says.

Belle's eyes widen. "My…You're our…" She can't quite get the words out.

Rumplestiltskin snorts. He doesn't mean to, but it comes out anyway. Belle's eyes shoot to him and narrow. He shakes his head, his brow wrinkling slightly. "You don't actually…"

But he can't get the words out.

Or rather, they're cut off halfway through as _something_ comes flying past him, orange and large with tentacles flying.

"You're not their child!" he's screaming as he heaves his body across the room. He's never been quite so terrifying. Even Rumplestiltskin moves back a step.

Or maybe three.

Or four.

Belle is almost wiped out by one of the tentacles. Only Rumplestiltskin's quick thinking, rushing forward and grabbing her by the waist to pull her back from the ridiculous creature keeps her on her feet and not covered in slime. He breathes hard as he holds onto her, for just a moment. Releases her. She doesn't want him near. He knows this.

But then she turns to him.

And her eyes meet his.

And there's this _look_ there, knowing, wondering. She offers a half smile. "Thank you." She's breathless and he just stares at her for a moment, hands hanging awkwardly in the air, fingers rubbing together.

"It's no matter," he says and one side of his mouth quirks up. A remembrance. A tribute, even. To what they once were.

But there's no time for that.

None.

Because Stan is… _Stan_. He's never seen him like this.

Not when Regina showed up to torment him.

Not when Zelena imitated Belle.

Not even when he and Belle rescued him from Emma's Dark One clutches.

No. This time his tentacles are waving like mad and the gigantic eyes are narrowed. He looks like a cartoon, all righteous indignation and insanity. It's almost glorious and Rumplestiltskin cannot help but smirk as he watches him rush directly at the man, the _god_ , who claims he is his son.

 _He doesn't even look like me_.

 _Ridiculous_.

 _Too tall._

 _Too something._

"You are not their son!" Stan's voice thunders through the room just moments before he latches onto Morpheus, tentacles wrapping tightly to his prey. "You are _not their son_!" His voice is loud, booming, it carries throughout the room and for a moment Rumplestiltskin is almost sure the place will collapse around their heads, an avalanche of dream material raining down like hail.

But it doesn't.

Instead everything is deathly silent for a moment.

And then Morpheus makes some sort of noise. A cross between a screech and the sound a cat makes when hacking up a hairball. He's never heard such a thing before and he's pretty sure he never wants to hear it again.

"He's…" Belle starts to say, but then stops. She watches as Stan's tentacles tighten around the god. "Not?…"

She laughs then.

"Not your son!" Stan shouts.

Morpheus answers with another hacking noise.

"Let him go," Belle finally manages to get out.

Rumplestiltskin is rooted to the spot. He's afraid to laugh. Afraid to cry. Afraid to make any move at all.

Stan's huge eyes turn back toward them for a moment and he finally heaves a great big sigh and moves away from Morpheus. The god, or whatever he might be, is left standing alone, bent somewhat awkwardly to the side and he's never _seen_ such a look on a god's face before. His lip is curled up, nostrils attempting to flare, if only they weren't glued together with that _goo_ that Stan is covered in, deep furrow between his brows.

They're all still for a moment.

And then there's a splat. Not the splat of rain hitting the ground, that wonderfully musical sound that anyone who loves spring rejoices in. No. This is the splat of projectile vomit hitting the floor.

Morpheus is shivering and Rumplestiltskin _almost_ feels sorry for him. But then the god's face turns red and he's shouting at them and it's clear he's completely lost the plot of whatever story he was trying to sell them. "You people are all _crazy_!" He turns and walks off, making a squelching noise as he takes each step.

Stan's tentacles go flying one more time, hitting Morpheus in the back of the legs and sending him tumbling to the ground. The god stays down for a moment and Rumpelstiltskin can see his chest heaving. When he finally stands, getting back on his feet and whirling to face them, his face is screwed up into only a semblance of the sedate face he had gotten to know as the god's.

"You're not my son," Belle says and there's something hidden there behind the quiet words. Surprise. Revelation. Annoyance.

Rumplestiltskin smiles. "You're not _our_ son." There's more than simple annoyance there. There's anger. This _god_ has tried to twist them up, tried to keep them apart.

"Our son, yes." Belle steps up close to Rumplestiltskin and he holds out an arm. Waits. It's her choice. She can come to him, show a united front. Or she can stay separate.

He holds his breath.

She doesn't move.

He watches.

And then finally, she takes a small step sideways toward him, reaches out a hand, and he pulls her in close to his side.

They're a team.

The way they always should be.

"You're not their son!" Stan shouts and wraps himself around them just moments before Rumplestiltskin waves his hand, smirk firmly in place, and pulls them both out of her dream world.


End file.
